Simple Solutions
by Sobeys
Summary: Sara may be ready to let go of the past but the past isn't ready to let go of her. Michael tries his best to help despite Sara's constant refusal. One-shot. Misa. Some fluff, some angst.
1. Simple Solutions

**Hi! This is the same story that I posted earlier but I realized it was pretty rough work (I didn't get around to proofreading before posting). But I've made a lot of changes to the wording (the story is mainly the same). Enjoy!**

Waking up, crying and shaking had become normal for her. Every night, the demons of her past came to mercilessly torture her in her dreams, reminding her of everything she had been through. Every scar on her skin seemed to have been given to her a hundred more times in her dreams, just as painful as the first time.

It had been bearable at first. She would wake up - shaking, crying, sometimes screaming - in Michael's arms and he'd soothe her with his gentle words and even gentler caresses, bringing her back to reality. He would lay awake with her for hours, sometimes pushing her to talk about her dreams, other times distracting her with the sweet memories of their past and their plans for the future. The latter was more often the case as she was never willing to talk about the dreams. Michael had enough emotional baggage of his own; he didn't need to be shouldering hers as well.

He knew this too. He would often remind her that he loved her and _wanted_ to carry her burden with her, that it was his job as her husband to do so. But she wouldn't let him in; she wouldn't let anyone in.

She was so determined to prove that she could handle herself that she insisted he take an earlier shift at his engineering firm when the spot opened up. It would mean their shifts would line up so that one wouldn't be running out the door as soon as the other walked in. Sara had been working afternoons and evenings, coming home and crawling straight into bed every night, curling up against her husband and falling asleep within minutes. Michael, on the other hand, had been working late morning to early evenings, where he would come home to an empty house. The only time they really shared was breakfast and occasionally meeting up during their breaks for coffee or lunch - not exactly ideal but all they had to work with at the time.

There was only one downfall to Michael's new shift and it was the reason he'd been so hesitant to take the offer. Sara would wake up alone every morning, forced to deal with the dreams on her own. She said she could handle it but he wasn't so sure; truth be told, neither was she.

* * *

For the first few days, Sara swore she was fine, claiming that the dreams weren't as bad as usual. But she didn't realize how well Michael could read her. Each morning, he would look at her, seeing the dark circles under her eyes as she bit her lower lip, a clear tell that she was lying.

He didn't push her; he knew that if he did, she'd just fight harder to keep things bottled up. He had to let her fight it and just hope she'd learn that it's okay to accept help when she needed it.

* * *

About a week in, she was starting to lose it; she was constantly cranky, refusing to nap in the evenings because she didn't want Michael to know she couldn't sleep at night. She would lie there in his arms every night, listening to his faint snores, feeling his chest rise and fall as she lay curled up against his side. She would start to doze off for short periods of times - half an hour, sometimes an hour if she was lucky - until she'd abruptly awaken, the faces of her tormentors - most often Gretchen or Kellerman - taunting her every time she closed her eyes. Sometimes Michael would wake up, startled by her sudden movement or her quiet sobs and he'd soothe her, telling her that he'd switch his shift back that very morning. But she always stopped him; she had to deal with her demons.

* * *

At one point, she came up with the idea of waking up before Michael. She'd busy herself with making him breakfast or straightening up the house, but she knew he saw through her facade immediately. He'd give her a look - a mixture of loving concern and frustration at her insistence of dealing with her problems alone - and then he'd force her back to bed, claiming that he wouldn't let her deprive herself of sleep any more than she already was. She didn't stop though, so it was no wonder when he woke up to the sound of someone in the closet one morning. Groggily lifting his head, his eyes focused on auburn locks of hair, relaxing immediately before he slowly got out of bed, walking into the closet and placing a hand on her back to alert her to his presence. She stiffened and then immediately relaxed at the familiar touch, turning her head to look at him questioningly.

"Why are you up? It's only...5:40," she asked, poking her head of out the closet to look at the clock.

"Come back to bed," he replied, gently guiding her away from the clothes.

"But what about your shirt? They're not ironed."

"I'll wear this one." he said, pulling out a perfectly-pressed shirt that he'd ironed the night before. "Come back to bed."

"What about your lunch?" she protested.

"I'll pick up something from work," he said, tugging on her arm. "Time to sleep."

"I'm fine, I'm not tired," she replied, looking away from him towards the row of shirts.

He sighed, "Sara, you're leaving me with no choice." He then picking her up with ease, carrying her back to bed. She yelped in surprise, and then began protesting, ordering him to put her down but he ignored her, walking to their bed and placing her down gently. He then proceeded to join her, covering them both with the duvet and pulling her into his arms.

"Sleep," he ordered, his breath tickling her neck.

Rolling her eyes, she smiled at him, shifting to plant a kiss on his soft mouth before leaning her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart beat. His hand gently stroked her hair, lulling her to sleep, the fear of dreaming temporarily forgotten. For the next few hours, she slept peacefully.

* * *

Another morning of fitful sleep, waking up shouting or crying. Sara climbed out of bed, peering at the red numbers on her clock. 8:30. Great, another round of early morning nightmares. She lay there for a few minutes, debating over whether it was really worth going back to sleep, eventually deciding that it wasn't. So she started to climb out of bed and then stopped when she noticed something on her night table.

 _For when you need a hug and I'm not there._ \- _Michael._

Sara picked up the furry bear that accompanied the note and smiled. Leave it to Michael to find a solution for everything.

* * *

Michael stared at the blueprints for his newest project, looking carefully for anything that needed to be modified but his mind kept going back to Sara. He felt the way he had that day in the infirmary, hiding the little paper flower in his sleeve. He smiled fondly at the memory, remembering the pride he felt when he'd realized she kept it rather than tossing it in the trash with the other flowers.

His phone vibrated, breaking him out of his thoughts and he picked it up, smiling at what he saw. There was a picture of his beautiful wife, lying in their bed with her cheek resting on the brown fur of her new bear. He arms were wrapped tightly around it and she was grinning. The caption read "He's a better cuddler than you. xox"

 _Mission accomplished,_ he thought to himself, smiling at the photo. It's amazing how the biggest problems can have the simplest solutions.


	2. Not So Simple After All

Her first morning after receiving Michael's present had been the same as always - jolting awake from her nightmares. Her whole body was damp with sweat, her heart racing as she struggled to breathe. She sat up, her head in her hands as she sobbed.

All of a sudden she was angry. She was more than angry, she was furious. She threw her bear forcefully across the room, hearing a dull _thump_ as it hit the wall and then fell to the floor. She clutched at her hair, yanking on it as though trying to pull the anger out of her. She jumped out of bed, throwing the duvet to the floor, the pillows following right after. She stomped down the stairs and through the house, looking for something to take her anger out on. She ripped magazines, throwing their remains into the air. Going to the bookshelf, she threw a bunch of them against the living room wall, leaving a dent above the couch.

Nothing made her feel any better. She needed to get out. As she grabbed her keys from a hook in front of the door, her finger scraped against the hook, cutting her finger. Ignoring the sting, she slammed the door and headed for her car with a clear destination in mind.

* * *

Slamming her purse against the counter, she took a seat on a stool, gesturing towards the bartender. He nodded, finishing up with another customer before going over to her.

"What can I get you, doll?" he asked, smiling creepily at her.

Sara slammed some cash onto the counter, startling him from checking out her body. His eyes met hers and she stared angrily at him. Her voice was even when she said, "Bourbon neat."

"You don't mess around," the bartender observed, smirking at her. He had a tooth missing from his yellow set.

"Just pour," she said, matching his stare, unwaveringly.

He stared at her a few beats longer and then turned around to do as she said. A moment later, he handed her the amber liquid, leaning against the counter in front of her. Ignoring him, Sara looked around the dim bar, seeing a group of men playing pool, some folks off to the right laughing loudly, clearly intoxicated. She looked back down into the glass, swishing the ice cubes around a few times before raising it to her lips.

* * *

Michael was deep in conversation with one of his colleagues, helping him with one of his designs. They had been poring over the blueprints for the past hour, trying to finalize the details when his phone rang. Taking a quick look at the caller I.D., Michael excused himself.

"Hey, you," he greeted, smiling.

"Michael?" his smile immediately vanished as his senses picked up the hoarseness in her voice and the loud music and yelling in the background.

"Sara, what's wrong? Where are you?"

He heard her sob on the other end. "Can you come get me, please?"

Her voice was just above a whisper but Michael understood. He quickly grabbed his jacket and keys and headed for the door. "Of course, where are you?"

He stopped in his tracks when she responded. "A...a bar?"

"I'm so sorry," she replied, sobbing hard.

"I'll be there in ten minutes, okay?" Michael replied, practically running through the parking lot.

"Okay," she replied.

* * *

When he pulled up to the bar, Michael immediately spotted Sara sitting on the curb, her head in her hands. Having heard his car, she looked up and met his blue-eyed gaze before returning them to the ground. She stood up and got into the passenger seat, putting her seat belt on with shaking hands and then putting her hands in her lap, her eyes glued to the glove box.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, watching her closely.

She was silent for a moment. Then, her shoulders started to shake and she turned her head to look out the window, taking a deep breath to calm herself. When that didn't stop her tears, she buried her head in her hands, starting to sob.

"Sara," his heart broke at the sight before him and he quickly gathered her into his arms - at least, as best as he could over the gap between their seats. He pulled her against him, stroking her back, murmuring in her ear that it was okay, that he was here now.

"Can you please get me out of here?" she sobbed, clutching his shirt.

"Of course," he replied, starting the car. She shifted back into her seat, granting him space so he could drive. He tried to focus his attention on the road,but he kept looking at her whenever he could. Her right hand was holding his left but she wouldn't meet his eyes as he drove the familiar route to their home. Her sniffles had stopped about halfway home and it was completely silent until she abruptly spoke.

"I didn't drink."

Michael suppressed his sigh of relief. He turned quickly to look at her, a small smile on his face. "I'm proud of you. You're stronger than you know, Sara."

Sara scoffed. "I was so close to doing it Michael. I ordered and was so close to ruining everything I'd worked so hard to accomplish. I almost ruined four years of sobriety."

"But you didn't. That's what's important."

"Right."

"I'm serious. You had the drink right in front of you and you resisted. That's what's important. You didn't ruin anything - in fact, you proved that you're strong enough to resist temptation."

She didn't say anything. He squeezed her hand and they continued in silence until they reached their home.

As soon as they stepped inside, Michael turned around and pulled Sara into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and buried her head in his neck, her tears spilling out once more. This time, Sara didn't fight them. She was just too tired. Michael held onto her, letting her cry until her sobs were reduced to sniffles and then he pulled back, looking into her face. He raised a hand to wipe her tears and push her hair out of her face.

"What happened today?" he asked. She looked away but he placed his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. "Sara, please don't shut me out."

"I'm tired. I'm just so tired," she replied, her eyes watering.

"The nightmares haven't stopped," he said. It wasn't a question.

She shook her head. "I don't...I don't know how to make them go away. They just keep getting worse."

"What do you see? In your dreams?"

She shook her head, letting go of him, going to sit on the couch. "I can't."

"Sara," Michael said firmly. "What do you see?"

"Please," she sobbed. "I can't."

"Sara, look at me," Michael said. He had been terrified of pushing her too hard but enough was enough. He needed to know what was causing her so much pain. He needed to make it go away. "Sara, you need to talk about it. You're a doctor; you know that what your behaviour is destructive. Please, let me help you."

Sara sobbed harder than before, burying her head in her hands. "I-I see you. You're lying there, in the warehouse, with blood all around you. And I can't help you. Sometimes Kellerman is there, or Gretchen, or T-Bag. They keep holding me back and they're making me watch you die. And..."

He stopped himself from pulling her into his arms again as she sobbed, not even letting himself get up to get her some water. He needed her to tell him everything and he couldn't risk her shutting down again. So he forced her to continue. "And what?"

"Sometimes...sometimes they're not there. Sometimes it's just me watching you die. But I still can't move. They're not holding me back, I don't know what is. I just...I can't move."

"Oh, Sara," this time he didn't resist. He pulled her against him and she latched onto him, squeezing him so tight that it hurt, but he didn't stop her. He held her close, practically pulling her into his lap as she sobbed, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to catch her breath.

"I don't want to lose you," she sobbed.

His heart broke for her, not even able to imagine how she'd kept that bottled up for so long. God knows, he'd go crazy if anything happened to her."It's okay, Sara. I'm okay, and we're not in the warehouse anymore. No one's going to hurt either of us, okay? I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

"I love you," she sniffled, her hold on him tightening even more.

He stroked her hair and kissed the crown of her head. "I love you too. And I'm always going to be right here, okay? No one is going to take me away from you. Not Kellerman, not Gretchen, not T-Bag, not anyone."

He held onto her, rocking her back and forth, murmuring that everything was okay over and over until her sobs finally subsided and she fell asleep against him. He didn't dare move, afraid that he'd wake her from her much-needed slumber. Instead, he shifted slightly so he was more comfortable and joined her.

Over the next few weeks, they were both happier to see that Sara's nightmares, although not completely gone, had reduced significantly. And, hopefully, over time, they would go away altogether.

 **This originally started out as a one-shot, but then I realized, there's no way something like that can be resolved by something as simple as a stuffed bear. Sure, it was a nice gesture, but that can't erase the heavy emotional damage from the events of the past. So hopefully this is more believable.**


End file.
